Speculation Complex
by Randomadness
Summary: Poor Hitsugaya is really complex, if you look past his cold exterior. In truth, he is just as puzzled and frightened as we are... Completely uncut delve into the mind of Hitsu-chan, no details excluded. He really is more like Hanataro, afterall...


Hey Everybody! This is my first story! I hope you enjoy... Oh, yah, I apologize ahead of time for the seemingly OOC-ness... See, for Hitsu-chan's personal experience in dealing with the "euphoric" (for lack of better way to put it) I thought it would be funniest to portray him as a frightened child... So, alas, he has been mixed with Hanataro for this particular one-shot...

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Please review! As this is my first time writing for , I would really like to know if you all like my writing style/stories... You can be honest, though. Even if you absolutely hate it, don't hesitate to tell me... Of course, I hope you don't absolutely hate it, but if you do, all I can do is apologize... (I do that a lot)

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Now I'm very unsure of many things, but about one thing I'm absolutely sure: I'll own Bleach and all associated characters when all cows spontaneously turn hot pink... Without further ado, here's my story!!

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He was good at deciphering many things, yet comprehension of the "goings on", and brain structure of his subordinates was constantly evading him. They _knew_ that he hated many things, like sweets, for instance, but they brought the offending foodstuff for him from human world anyway.

He eyed this, the gallon of Ben-and-Jerry's "Jamaican me Crazy" that sat on his desk warily. He hated sweets, but his situation called for desperate measures. So, alas, in an attempt to feel better, he found himself digging into the ice cream with gusto…

He would sooner die than put his struggle "out in the open", but the truth of the matter was that he really tried very hard to understand the constants in his life, even when he thought it was against his better judgment.

In this, he was actually too kind, and he knew it. Sometimes he would even wonder, "Why bother?" Yet, it would _always _be in utter belief that he would _always_ find himself being pulled into their absurd struggles, especially after complete detachment from the world around them had _already_ occurred.

This was the time where he had to grin and bear the crazed babblings of the "euphoric"; all the while not forgetting that, no matter how young you seem, being captain of Tenth Company has its responsibilities.

He begrudgingly began to accept that part of his duty was to relinquish the hold of insanity on these poor souls _and_ restore balance, to bring them back to the much less "wobbly and dizzy-making" real world.

On most days he wondered if being leader of the pack was really all it was cut out to be. In fact, in one of his more recent endeavors, he had tried to get a certain she-entity above the influence by removing the sake bottles from the premises, and banning her from taking in alcohol ever again.

However, this, as he would soon learn, was not the correct way to go about his responsibilities, for he soon found himself being pummeled by her "beloved" sake bottle (one of many) that, he could have sworn, was after his blood.

Thanks to that, his dreams had all taken to starring a very "colorful" talking sake bottle with fangs, which left him awake at 3 am, in a rather embarrassing and compromising position. Yes, he often found himself curled up under his covers, quietly moaning and – dare he say it – having his thumb, by this time already soggy and wrinkled, in alarmingly close proximity to his mouth.

"This is getting ridiculous," he thought, while absentmindedly doodling his way through the tedium of his regular day-life, which involved poring over ridiculous nonsense, armed with a large red approval stamp and checkbook.

This past week, in which he had tactfully managed to avoid all dates with sudden death, he had used his little spare time to really pull out all the stops. From dream catchers to blue paint around his doorframe to early retirements to bed to feigning sickness to psychiatrists! Plural. He had been actively using four at the moment.

He always told his rather worried fellow captains that he was undergoing a new stage of his life, and, in his quest to experiment with reinventing himself, has contracted a particularly stubborn case of the flu.

They, Ukitake in particular, merely thought the stress of captainhood was too much for him, and that his internal alarm was telling him that he needed time to recuperate. After all, he was really only a child.

Thankfully, his fellow captains soon left him in peace, to let go of the past and drunk-proof the future of his life.

Speaking of the sake activists in his life, he really failed to comprehend why the rice wine is such an important part of the life of deadly-weapon-Strawberry-blonde, his second in command. After all, in his opinion, all it did was make punching bag out of precious liver, and threaten supposed full lifespan at gunpoint.

He sighed and shook his head. "Why me?"

"Caapp-cap-captaiiiiiiiiiii-CAPTAINNNNNNN," said weapon gurgles, while charging at what she hopes is dear captain's office door. "I bbbbr-brouuuuu- broughhhhhhhhhhtttttt teeeaaaaa."

Oh no.


End file.
